


Nothing Happened in Corleone

by dicks



Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-21
Updated: 2016-06-21
Packaged: 2018-07-16 11:17:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7265971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dicks/pseuds/dicks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Something happened in Corleone</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nothing Happened in Corleone

  
On their last night in Corleone, they lodged themselves in Yamamoto’s room, ordered two full trays of food from the room service and a bottle of Barolo because after three days in a row of conciliatory meeting with the Morello clan and lots of back and forth calls to Japan, Gokudera declared with triumph that they should celebrate.  
  
“Try not to pass out from the excitement,” Gokudera said when Yamamoto stood gaping at the various dishes. Gokudera lit a cigarette and went on about the latest volumetric device he was working on. He poured himself a glass of wine while Yamamoto grabbed a plate of something that looked like spongy fat noodles and sat down on the only other chair in the room.   
  
They talked or rather Gokudera talked while Yamamoto munched and listened and watched the way Gokudera’s lips moved, the way his eyes flickered in excitement, which Yamamoto thought sort of _extraordinary—_ “Don’t laugh with your mouth full, dumbass. It’s disgusting,” Gokudera said but there was something else in his voice; the lack of the usual acrimony and “Fuck off, bastard.” And it went like that for a while, with Gokudera spitting venoms and Yamamoto laughing even harder every time until they almost polished off the bottle of wine.   
  
And they kissed. It was much later that night and when they did, Yamamoto smiled in the kiss because it was their first and it seemed like a good idea that time when he sneaked a hand under Gokudera’s shirt, rubbing his thumb over Gokudera’s nipple. And when they broke apart, he kept his eyes locked on Gokudera’s, on the way it widened slightly, pupil dilated and then almost shut when Gokudera took a long, deep breath.   
  
“I’m sorry,” Yamamoto said later, after seconds of heavy silence because really, he couldn’t think of anything else to say when all he wanted to do was pull Gokudera by the cuff of his shirt and tell him just how _unbelievably_ stupefying it was. Gokudera tasted like smoke and _addiction_ and everything and it _lingered._ But he was lost at the way Gokudera’s eyebrows creased into a frown, the dangerous way, the way he did sometimes when he was about to explode.   
  
“Well fuck. So am I,” Gokudera said flatly and then walked out the room.   
  
\-   
  
Once, they were both eighteen and it was a Sunday afternoon. Yamamoto stood in front of the swing with his hands deep inside his pockets, all twitchy and nervous because Gokudera was looking at him like he was expecting him to say something, because Yamamoto had started it when he told Gokudera that he needed to talk and he had meant it but God, the words wouldn’t come out. They stuck in his throat like a pile of bricks and his limbs felt like it were made of tofu which happened a lot lately when Gokudera laid his eyes square on him.   
  
“What's up with you,” Gokudera had asked impatiently. “Why are you trembling idiot?”   
  
“Well—” he started and then paused. Okay maybe this was a lot harder than he had first thought; maybe admission should have waited but not when Gokudera was looking at him as if he was nothing but annoyance and the bricks kept piling up in his throat— there was hardly room for air— and soon, he would be chocking on concrete slab. “—Urmm nothing,” Yamamoto said, trying to ignore the unfamiliar weight in his chest.   
  
“What a moron.” Gokudera frowned and Yamamoto smiled, scratching the back of his head because Gokudera was right.  
  
\-   
  
“What happened in Corleone?”   
  
Yamamoto looked up from the book he was reading. _The Complete Idiot's Guide to Learning Italian_ , Gokudera had given him a week before they left for Italy and told him that he had his name written all over the book and nearly two weeks later, he was still at page forty-two. “What do you mean?”   
  
“Because Octopus-head nearly punched me in the face today and he hasn’t been trying to do that for a while.” Ryohei said, taking a seat next to him.   
  
“So? I don’t really get it.”   
  
“So,” Ryohei sighed dramatically. “He’s been acting like he’s having a mid-day crisis since you both came back but duh, I thought we _all_ had already past that _phase_ since he hit puberty.”   
  
Shrugging, Yamamoto closed the book on his lap. Ryohei was looking at him like he knew the answers and Yamamoto stared at the cover of the book like it held all the answers, but it didn’t because then it would be too easy, “Nothing happened.” he muttered and then smiled, baring his teeth.   
  
Except something _did_ happen and Yamamoto wasn’t sure himself what exactly it had been other than the kiss— because he memorized the gentle pressure on his lips, memorized the cool-warmth of the skin under his palm— but things had been unpleasantly awkward since their last night in Corleone because Gokudera had been avoiding him like a plague and their flight back had been the quietest journey Yamamoto ever experienced.   
  
“Nothing happened, really,” he said again like he believed it and not looking up.   
  
\-   
  
It took him almost a year after the first try because there was never a suitable time, never the right words, not when it came to Gokudera anyway but things had been better between them and there had been sort of friendship, some kind of bond, ( _we aren’t close, idiot, stop saying that, why the fuck does it even matter anyway—_ ) or at least Gokudera had ceased threatening shoving dynamites down his throat and to Yamamoto it was still kind of _something_.   
  
“I have this feeling,” Yamamoto had said while playing with the hem of Gokudera’s shirt. Gokudera didn’t notice; too busy scribbling something in his notebook. They were alone in Tsuna’s room, waiting for him to come back with snacks from the kitchen.   
  
“Hmm?” Gokudera asked from the curtain of his bangs and smacked Yamamoto’s hand away.   
  
“I like someone.”   
  
Gokudera lifted his head, frowning slightly. “But you like _everyone_.” he capitalized the word ‘everyone’.   
  
Clearing his throat, he tried catching Gokudera’s eyes. “I mean hey," he said, "It’s like really like, like oh-couldn’t-stop-thinking-about-this-someone-like or keep-wanting-to-be-with-this-someone-like or like it _hurts_ because I don’t know, honestly do not know what to do about it, you know?” What he really wanted to say was, I like you and I want to be closer to you, maybe to touch you now and then if you let me and I wonder if you would smile for me sometimes the way you smile for Tsuna, but he didn’t because he would sound more like an idiot than he already was and because Gokudera the smart one, would understand too easily the things he didn’t say out loud, the line between the lines and Yamamoto’s hand inched toward the hem of Gokudera’s shirt again but stopped short, frozen halfway.   
  
Because Gokudera said nothing and for some reason looked somewhat furious and when their eyes locked, something in Yamamoto’s stomach flipped— and there was something else in Gokudera’s expression too, something came close to being repulsive— “That was the most ridiculous and the dumbest thing that’s came out from your mouth ever,” Gokudera said, lips pressed tightly together, eyes hard on him, judging, in which Yamamoto thought was maybe Gokudera’s subtle way of saying stop dreaming already because you’re not worth any of my time, idiot.   
  
And Yamamoto finally understood.   
  
From the other room Yamamoto could hear Tsuna’s faint footsteps climbing up the staircase and Yamamoto stared hard at the empty space next to Gokudera’s ear and did not flinch because he _was_ Yamamoto and Yamamoto always _did_ what Yamamoto did _best_ and so he laughed.   
  
The funny thing was it would be ludicrously funny if it didn’t hurt so much.  
  
\-   
  
“Did something happen in Corleone?” “  
  
Uhh why did you ask that?” Yamamoto averted his eyes and focused on the stack of papers piled up on Tsuna’s table. His butt sunk deeper in the too-cushiony guest seat, like it was swallowing him whole and making him feel a little too small compared to Tsuna in his high impressive chair.   
  
“Because the day after both of you returned, Gokudera came to see me. He requested _not_ be to be partnered with you again for any mission in the future, regardless of the situation,” Tsuna said, voice concerned and sympathetic. “And he wouldn’t want say why.”   
  
“Oh that—,” Yamamoto said and then closed his mouth quickly before he said anything else. His eyes were still glued to the stack of papers and words hung heavy at the tip of his tongue. The thing was, he respected Tsuna as a friend and as a boss and he knew he could always talk to him and it would be _so_ easy but then he also remembered the way Gokudera sort of not-looking at him, the way Gokudera squared his shoulders and fled when Yamamoto approached him that morning— Yamamoto had tried, he really did and did not understand Gokudera even after those years—; and Yamamoto opened his mouth, tasting his words but instead he broke into a grin like he usually did, a little too flamboyant, like everything was okay and he told Tsuna just that, not really answering the question. But from the way Tsuna was looking at him, Yamamoto could tell that he didn’t believe any word of it.   
  
Later as he walked back toward his room he caught a sight of himself on the glass window and he stopped and stared at his own reflection and wondered why he was feeling too much.   
  
\-   
  
There was one minor point in their teenage life where Gokudera was obsessing himself over Heroes. Yamamoto knew because Gokudera was out of breath, flushed and talking up a storm. ‘ _It was like mafia but with superpowers and fancy hairstyles, minus the idiotic spandex of course’_ , he had said one afternoon during lunch period and after that for almost a week, Yamamoto sneaked into the computer room between baseball practice and watched Heroes on YouTube.   
  
And the next time they were at the school roof when Gokudera was rambling about his current obsession again, _‘God, you should see this Sylar dude—_ ’, Yamamoto interrupted him with huge grin plastered on his face, a little too proud of himself and he said the only line he could remember from the show. “Aha wait! I know that! Save the world, save the cheerleader.”   
  
Gokudera fell down on the floor that day, rolling and laughing his head off but it was the most bewitching sight of Gokudera Yamamoto had ever witnessed.  
  
\-   
  
“What the fuck happened in Corleone?” Bianchi asked. It took Yamamoto a moment to realize that Bianchi had spoken to him because he was too busy trying to stay awake during a meeting break. He felt worn out— too many sleepless nights, too much of tossing and turning on the purple-colored bed sheet, too much of wanting— and then he yawned.   
  
“Answer the question Yamamoto.” Bianchi pressed not amused. Yamamoto blinked his sleep away and Bianchi’s gaze felt heavy on his face.   
  
“Haaa I—” he trailed off, still a little hazy from the nap. But really, what could he say anyway, and later when the room started to fill with people as the break was over, he watched Gokudera walk in looking everywhere else but him, anyone else _but_ him. He told Bianchi nothing because putting it into words made it feel more real than it already did and the reality was Gokudera resented him— one kiss and years of friendship went down the drain but then again to be honest with himself, Gokudera had never acknowledged their friendship even from the start and maybe, Yamamoto thought, maybe he had been overestimating himself all those years. Yamamoto rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand, he sighed and he watched as the sharp corner of Gokudera’s mouth turned into a tiny scowl and Yamamoto wanted to touch.   
  
\-   
  
He woke up on the smell of coffee coming from the kitchen. Lying on his back, he blinked at the source of light; Yamamoto always sleeps with the window opened. Somewhere nearby, people were talking. It sounded like Ryohei was shouting and Lambo was shouting even louder and in the background, a door being slammed shut and Yamamoto thought morning was the noisiest but nevertheless his favorite part of the day. He fumbled with the covers, then pulled it above his chest and tucked it right under his chin but it was rather hot so he pushed it back down to his waist and then glanced briefly at the clock, eight-thirty-five, almost— _thirty-minutes more_ , he thought and then he would hit the shower. He stared at the ceiling, blinking, twitching, watching the shadows waltz right above him and that was when he started thinking, what the hell happened in Corleone.  
  
-  
  
Gokudera tried removing Yamamoto’s jacket with only one hand because his other hand was holding a cigarette. “Fuck Yamamoto, you’re ruining an _Armani_.”   
  
Yamamoto practically _giggled_ because he felt all bubbly inside. He couldn’t stop giggling since he spilled some wine on his jacket because Gokudera’s expression was priceless and expensive wine made him dizzy in an expensive sort of way. “Here, wait, no let me do it,” he said, out of breath from laughing too much and accidently knocked Gokudera with his elbow when he tugged his arm.   
  
“Oh what the fuck, idiot.” Gokudera cursed, rubbing his chin and then Yamamoto laughed some more. Before he knew it, Gokudera growled and grabbed him by the shoulders, forcing him to stand still and started stripping off his jacket which Yamamoto thought was a little too rough but definitely on purpose from the small smirk playing on Gokudera’s lips.   
  
“What a madness,” Gokudera said afterwards, chucking the ruined jacket on the chair. His eyes drifted slowly to the stained on the carpet and then toward the window and beyond, to the empty street of Corleone.   
  
“Ahh Gokudera—” Yamamoto was about to say something but he forgotten the words once he realized how dangerously close Gokudera was standing in front of him.   
  
“Sheer fucking madness,” Gokudera muttered, breathing heavily trough his nose. Yamamoto leaned slightly towards him, breathing equally hard for some reason. “—Tch. _You_ are madness,” Gokudera corrected himself, smiling faintly and then he placed his hands on each side of Yamamoto’s face before closing the gap between them.   
  
\-   
  
“Gokudera, why are we doing this?” Yamamoto said and for a moment, he thought Gokudera would strike him on his face but Gokudera merely narrowed his eyes before continuing to ignore him. They weren’t alone in the kitchen but Yamamoto didn’t care. Ryohei looked up from his plate, watched them both anxiously and then went back to eating.   
  
“Why are we doing this?” he repeated, a little uncertain. He remembered rehearsing the lines over and over in his head that morning but now it felt foreign on his tongue.   
  
“What are we _doing_ , exactly?” Gokudera stood up, knocking the chair over.   
  
“Guys—” Ryohei started but Gokudera’s glare cut him off an instant.   
  
“Something happened in Corleone.” Yamamoto said after a moment.   
  
“Hello. This is extremely awkward.”   
  
“Shut the fuck up.” Gokudera snapped, flushing and Ryohei pouted. “Fuck this shit. I’m leaving.”   
  
“No.”   
  
“No?”   
  
“No! Hey. Okay, okay—please.” he said, fingers clutching Gokudera's sleeve hard, almost ripping the material off and after a beat or two, Gokudera stopped struggling.   
  
“I think I’d better go.” Ryohei said but nobody in the room was paying any attention to him.   
  
“Nothing happened in Corleone.” Gokudera hissed once they were alone.   
  
“You kissed me.”   
  
“You _were_ fucking sorry.”   
  
“I was stupid!”   
  
“Goddamn right you were!”   
  
“I—,” Yamamoto paused, raking his hand through his hair, heart pounding in his ears. He released his grasp from Gokudera’s arm slowly, gently, almost half-expecting for him to flee. “It has been years Gokudera. Years— and you never made it easy,” he said. “I think at one point I was able to convince myself to move on, or at least I thought I wouldn’t miss much as long as I stuck by your side but this— but I— and then— and then we kissed and suddenly I was sixteen all over again and I—”   
  
“You what?” Gokudera asked.   
  
“I never stopped wanting you.” Yamamoto answered.   
  
\-   
  
It had started five years ago, he was pretty sure of that.   
  
They were sixteen and it didn’t register to him until he woke up at the peak of dawn with a boner for the fifth time that week with vivid images of protruding hipbones and pale bony wrists and fiery green eyes and it wasn’t even surprising. Maybe because it was always there, sneaking up to him but Yamamoto thought finally he had it all figured out; he was falling hard with something – with everything - for his friend and then he closed his eyes, wrapping his hand around his cock, groaning against the pillow as he jerked his hand clumsily under the covers.   
  
And afterwards, he curled his body tight into a ball stayed that way for hours.   
  
\-   
  
First, a tug on his arms then another pair of lips crushed his before a heavy ringed-fist connected to his jaw. Gokudera had kissed him then punched him hard on the face.   
  
“Fuck,” Gokudera said. “Took you long enough, bastard.”   
  
Yamamoto laughed helplessly from the floor.   
  
-


End file.
